


The Kennelled Club

by BlairtheBear



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25584457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairtheBear/pseuds/BlairtheBear
Summary: The spread of an unnamed virus brings the world to a standstill.Sansa Stark must learn to navigate a global pandemic while accommodating a rather unsavory houseguest. To make matters worse, he rejects all her attempts at friendship. But she's not easily discouraged.Sandor Clegane finds himself quarantined with a seemingly perfect stranger. To make matters worse, she insists upon being his friend. But he's more stubborn than she knows.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 49





	The Kennelled Club

**SANSA**

_On my way_.

Three words. Not even a complete sentence. But the text still sent Sansa’s heart racing, stomach tumbling. 

It was not the message itself that unnerved Sansa, but the sender: Sandor Clegane. A man with a reputation so fearsome, he was dubbed the “Hound.” A man who, upon their first meeting, mocked her relentlessly. And that same man would share her house for the foreseeable future.

Sansa paced the length of her living room. _The Others take Arya_ , she cursed. It was her sister who had invited the Hound to stay with them. Except Arya was in Braavos with her fiancé, leaving Sansa entirely alone. Of all Arya’s friends, why couldn’t it have been Hot Pie moving in? He was nice, gentle, and loved to bake sweet treats. Instead, she was trapped with the rough-tongued Hound. 

Sansa based her opinion of him on only one encounter, but she knew nothing else of the man. Arya must have seen some other redeeming qualities for her to befriend him, but those were lost on Sansa.

A yellow taxi pulled into her driveway, and Sansa was overwhelmed with nausea. 

“He’s here,” she announced to Lady, her pet direwolf. Her ears perked in acknowledgement.

The Hound emerged from the cab, and Sansa was immediately struck by him. It wasn’t his size (incredibly massive, both in height and build), or the scars (jarring at first), or even his hair (1A, coarse, with need of a good deep conditioning treatment). It was his eyes. They pierced her as she held open the door.

Less than a year ago, those same eyes had been hazy from wine when he confessed his deepest secret to her. 

“Hello,” Sansa greeted. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” he replied.

Lady hopped from the couch and delicately sniffed the Hound. Before Sansa could apologize, he reached down to scratch the dog between her ears.

“If she bothers you –” 

“She’s fine,” the Hound interrupted. “Where do I put my shit?”

His manners hadn’t improved at all. _Courtesy is a lady’s armor_ , Sansa reminded herself. She led him down the hall, giving him a quick tour of her small home. “The kitchen is on the other side of the living room, through the archway. Laundry is downstairs. The bathroom is the first door on the right. Second door on the right is my room, and yours will be directly across.” 

Arya’s room was painted charcoal with no decoration besides a large map of Planetos hanging on the wall. There were pins in the many places she had visited. The Hound placed his bags on the bed, and Sansa hoped it would be long enough to fit the man’s enormous body.

“I cleared two drawers in the dresser, and there’s room in the closet for your clothes. The bedsheets are brand new.”

The Hound grunted. Sansa took that as a dismissal, and she left him to unpack. 

It was nearing three o’clock, so Sansa decided to prepare dinner. A pot roast, plucked straight from Grandma Minnie’s collection. A good, hearty meal. Something even the Hound would enjoy.

Sansa chopped the vegetables, deep in thought. The Hound probably disliked their arrangement as much as she did. Besides his drunken tirade, the two had never spoken. They weren’t even acquaintances. But the virus had spread at an unprecedented rate, leaving him with no time to make alternative plans. It was unfair to blame him for their misfortune. There was no doubt he was crass, but he was a _guest_. It would betray Sansa’s nature to treat him as anything less. She was too well-bred, a testament of her mother’s training. She had taught Sansa to be the perfect hostess: generous, hospitable, and doting. 

After she put the roast in the oven, Sansa sat beside Lady on the couch. Some sitcom played in the background. There was no noise coming from Arya’s room, so she assumed the Hound was catching up on rest. 

Sansa’s phone chimed. It was a text from her good-sister, Jeyne. A much-welcomed distraction.

_36 weeks today. I feel like I’m going to explode!_ She attached a profile of her very round belly.

_I can’t wait to be an aunt… again!_ Sansa replied, heart swelling with affection for her brother Robb and his family. 

Jeyne’s reception into the Stark household was not warm. It shamed Sansa, but she and her mother especially had been suspicious of the girl’s intentions with Robb. They blamed her for the couple’s unexpected pregnancy. Her mother had even accused her of ruining Robb’s future when he dropped out of Lannisport University, the best business program in Westeros, to raise their son. 

But Jeyne proved them wrong with her ardent devotion to Robb. When Edwen was born, the baby brought the Starks closer than ever. Sansa adored her nephew, all auburn curls and dimples, a miniature of her older brother. Their second child was due in a month, and Sansa had prayed to the old gods and the new for a niece. 

Sansa scrolled aimlessly through her social media then. Margaery Tyrell had uploaded a whole album of pictures from the Stokeworth-Blackwater wedding, tagging Sansa’s business account in a picture of the bride’s hair and makeup. Beth Cassel posted a status update where she lamented about the unending rain in Winterfell. And Arya had changed her profile picture to one of her and Gendry, overlooking Braavos from their hotel. 

Sansa sighed wistfully at the vivid picture of the city. It was so magical! The masonry of the stone bridges, the incredible size of the roaring Titan. _I could be eating lobster and sipping honeyed wine in a bistro on the Shivering Sea. Instead I’m stuck in King’s Landing accommodating a man I hardly know._

The alarm on the oven buzzed loudly, waking Sansa from her reverie. She sprinted to turn it off. After checking that the roast was cooked to her standards, she set the table for two. 

Sansa hesitantly approached the Hound’s room. Would he be angry if she woke him up? Would he be angry if she _didn’t_? After debating with herself for five minutes, she finally knocked on his door.

“S-Sandor? I’m sorry to disturb you, but dinner is ready. Would you like to join me?”

To Sansa’s surprise, he opened the door. She stared up at the Hound, unused to being this close. _Seven help me, but he is huge_! His whole body filled the door frame, his thick arms crossed against his chest. _And hairy_! 

“I hope you like pot roast,” Sansa said, trying to sound casual, on the way to the kitchen. 

The Hound dutifully sat across from her and filled his plate with a large helping. They ate in unbearable silence. Was it as awkward for the Hound as it was for her? She doubted it. He seemed content to ignore her while shoving forkfuls of meat down his throat. 

Sansa coughed lightly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Arya tells me that you work in IT – specifically, cyber security. That sounds interesting,” Sansa said. 

“It’s not.”

“I hear that’s a growing field with lots of opportunities.”

The Hound shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.”

“You’re fortunate that you can work from home. It must be convenient not to have a commute.”

“Sure.”

 _Ugh, he is so impossible_! But Sansa soldiered forward, determined to get a proper response from him. 

“Is it a rewarding job? It must be comforting that you’re able to protect sensitive information. You’re like a guardian of the internet.”

The Hound finally tore his eyes from his dinner. She gladly met his bewildered gaze. “It pays the bills. Doesn’t need to be rewarding.”

“That’s one way to think about it. Personally, I prefer doing a job I enjoy. Watching my clients gain confidence makes everything worth it. I admit it’s a bit frivolous, but it’s the path I chose.”

The Hound didn’t have anything to add, so Sansa continued. “Although, doing hair and makeup isn’t particularly useful right now. I wish there was more I could do to help all those people infected in Essos. Even if it's something small.”

“Could you pass the salt?” the Hound asked. 

Sansa withheld her defeated sigh. So much for conversation. 

They finished in quiet. Lady whined beneath the table, and Sansa snuck her pieces of roast. The Hound shook his head, but he didn’t comment on her table etiquette. She kind of wanted him to, just so she could hear him speak again. 

Abruptly, the Hound stood and took his plate to the sink, grabbing Sansa’s on the way. The gesture shocked her.

“You don’t have to—” 

“Least I can do. That was the best bloody meal I’ve had in years,” the Hound said.

Sansa felt lighter. The Hound did not strike her as a man who would flatter her unnecessarily. The compliment was genuine. 

Although it was against her instincts, Sansa allowed him to wash the dishes. She put the remaining pot roast – there wasn’t much – into a container for leftovers. Usually a meal like this would last her a week. Grabbing a dishtowel, she dried the plates that he had rinsed. The Hound did not object to her assistance, though his scowl did not look like approval. But he held his tongue nonetheless. Maybe Grandma Minnie was right: the quickest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

_Is this progress_?

“Good night!” Sansa called as the Hound stalked back into his room.

Nothing. _Or not_. 

She curled into the couch, snuggling with Lady, telling herself his apathy didn’t upset her. Besides, it was almost time for Daenerys Targaryen’s nightly conference.

The conferences had started last week when she announced the initial lockdown. Then came the travel ban. And finally, the self-quarantine.

Sansa was scared. It was only a month ago when she heard the rumors of some mysterious illness in Yi Ti, but that was a continent away. It hadn’t been a tangible threat… But then the number of deaths soared. She watched the news, glued to her television. She saw reports of the overflowing hospitals, people on ventilators. The old, the young, the rich, and the penniless. No one was safe. And it spread more and more as each day passed. As of yesterday, Ghiscar was seeing a surge of cases.

Arya was in Essos, too close for comfort. The thought of losing anyone in Sansa’s family, being helpless to the disease, it reminded her of Bran’s horrible accident. How she thought she had lost him forever. She couldn’t handle that pain again. 

_But how do you stop an invisible enemy_?

Daenerys Targaryen appeared on screen. Her silver hair was braided neatly down her back, much simpler than her usual style. Her purple eyes were alert, but Sansa could see how exhausted she looked. She wore a chic white pant suit with a lavender top. She was everything a leader should be: strong, decisive, and generous. Most importantly, she cared about the general well-being of Westeros. It was no wonder she was elected over the scandal-ridden incumbent, Robert Baratheon. 

“People of Westeros,” she began. She sounded weary, like a woman carrying the weight of millions of lives. “Thank you for your patience. I assure you, my advisors and I are working tirelessly for a solution that will keep our country safe. I have top maesters from the Citadel researching the virus day and night.

“While it gives me no joy, we have indefinitely extended the travel ban. No one who leaves Westeros will be able to reenter. If you have been to eastern Essos within the last month, please contact your local hospital. You will be provided a test at no cost to you.

“Discussions for a financial aid package are ongoing. Those rendered unemployed by the circumstances, please know you will not be forgotten. My administration has suspended all lease and mortgage payments for the next month to relieve some burden. 

“Lastly, it is easy to be overwhelmed by fear in grim times like these. But Westeros currently has no known cases, and I swear to do everything in my power to keep it that way. Please do your part by staying inside and avoiding public gatherings.”

Daenerys stepped away from the podium and walked to her husband’s side. They strode hand-in-hand back to the Red Keep. Reporters shouted questions at them, but her press secretary waved them way. Sansa flicked the television off. She let Lady outside, smiling as the dog chased some critter across the yard. 

It was getting chilly again. She would have to turn up the heat on her thermostat. The cold did not affect her the same as it did southerners, like the Hound. She would make something warm for dinner tomorrow. Baked potato soup? That was Arya’s favorite. She would double the batch to suit the Hound’s big appetite. 

Lady was done with her business, so they went back inside. When she passed Arya’s door, she was overcome with anger and disappointment. Why did the Hound have to be so difficult? It could have been so wonderful to have company during the lockdown, and he was ruining everything with his standoffish ways. The Hound didn’t have to like her, but could he at least pretend to? Was he capable of anything more than thinly-veiled annoyance? 

_It’s not like you’re my idea of perfect company, either!_

The Hound’s rebuffs hit Sansa harder than she was willing to acknowledge. Part of it was her pride, but there was another part, much deeper inside of her, that recognized his stinging rejection and shied away from the hurt.

Tomorrow, Sansa would do better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
